


we can make believe the morning sun never will rise

by notthebigspoon



Series: Hurricane [3]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim told Buster he was going to have to work for this and Buster is more than willing. It's just that he's dated one person in his life and look how that turned out and he has no idea what he's doing.</p><p>Title taken from Stay With Me (Brass Bed) by Josh Gracin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we can make believe the morning sun never will rise

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, Buster's apartment looks like Brian's loft from QaF. This isn't relevant to anything, really, it's just one of those things persisting in my head.

"We've got a game."

“Uh huh.”

“I still need to shave.”

“Kinda.”

“I’m not gonna have enough time at this rate.”

Buster’s protests are, he’ll admit, pretty half hearted. And Tim is ignoring him anyway, kissing his neck and nosing the scruff. Buster stifles a laugh because that tickles a little. He threads a hand into Tim’s hair, pulling his head back just a little so he can kiss the guy properly, tongue flicking in. Tim whimpers and grasps at Buster’s shirt.

Thing is, he hadn’t counted on this. He’d went out partying with the team last night but he hadn’t drank that much. He’d walked back to the hotel with Tim and courtesy of his behaving, had earned himself a kiss goodnight. He’d all but floated back to his own room but he hadn’t really been able to sleep, tossing and turning, brain an endless loop of _he’s mine, he’s mine again_. He’d given up the ghost when the sun was coming up and went in search of coffee. He’d ran into Tim in the lobby, Tim looking even more tired than Buster. They’d gotten Starbucks and went to watch cartoons in Tim’s room.

That was point A. Point B is Tim attached to Buster like a limpet, kissing and touching and testing every bit of self control Buster has. Tim’s drawing a leg up, starting to roll their hips together and… Buster’s phone starts buzzing and blaring a red alert siren, alerting him that it’s time to leave for the park. As far as cockblocks go, it’s very effective.

Buster curses and fumbles his phone out of his pocket, turning the alarm off. Tim rests his forehead against Buster’s shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. Buster just drops his head back against the headboard and pants, hand splayed across the small of Tim’s back.

“Well… guess I’m not shaving.”

 

***

“You can uh... um, y'know, later, if you want, you could come over. I could make you dinner.”

They've just deboarded the plane and Buster wants to cringe because that sounds all kind of awful. Not like he's after something but just lame. He just doesn't know how to do this. Dating in college is easy. Games and parties and movies. Theoretically, dating Tim shouldn't be any different than dating anyone else. Except Buster's really only dated one person that he married and subsequently destroyed the marriage.

He doesn't have a whole lot of information to go on.

Tim, however, doesn't appear even remotely bothered or disturbed by the idea. He's mostly distracted by his phone, checking the messages he'd gotten while they were on the plane. Buster sighs and shakes his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to extended parking to pick up his truck. Tim grabs his shoulder without looking up, thumb still flying over the screen of his phone.

“Hang on, just a sec, gottta send this... okay, yeah, sure. I need to go get Cy from the dog sitter and check the mail and shit. What time you want me over?” Tim asks, glancing up from his phone and cursing when it dings again. “Why do people only call me when I can't answer the phone? I have like, a dozen voicemails.”

“Um, kind of in the evening already now. So, y'know, whenever. I um... I'll text you my new address. I broke the lease on the house, moved to an apartment.” Buster mutters, and he hates the sympathetic look on Tim's face. 

“Yeah, okay. Give me a couple hours. I'll bring booze.”

Buster just nods and breaks away from the team to go get his truck. He stops at the store on the way back to his apartment because he's not entirely sure there's anything but frozen meals and boxed shit like hamburger helper at the apartment. There's not a lot else that he can cook. Still, he makes a pretty good shrimp alfredo and Tim can burn through pasta like it's nothing.

He spends so much time fretting his way through the store and then through the apartment when he gets home that he loses track of time and almost doesn't hear the knocking. He's got a dish towel over his shoulder and flour on his face and when he opens the door, Tim takes one look at him and bursts out laughing.

Buster flips him off and trudges back into the kitchen, muttering about ungrateful pitchers.

“This is... nice.” Tim trails off as he follows Buster, sticking a bottle of wine in the fridge before sitting at the island in the center of the kitchen. Buster is back at the stove that sits in the center of the island and quirks an eyebrow. Tim doesn't look critical, just confused.

“What?”

“Well, your house was kind of huge.”

“I live alone now. I didn't need all the space.” Buster shrugs. And it's true. It's stopped being a sore point. The place is upscale as far as apartments go. He has a nice view and he has an elderly neighbor that bakes for him for no reason.

“But a studio?”

“It was the first one the realtor showed me and I wasn't picky anyways. You brought wine?”

“Fair enough. Just seems weird living in one big room. Dig the glass panels around the bed though.” Tim says. At the mention of the wine he simply shrugs. “Zeets got me started on it. A lot of the white wines taste kinda fruity.”

“Eh, drove by a yard sale and couldn't resist the bed frame.” Buster yawns, pulling the bread sticks out of the oven.

Forty five minutes later and they're side by side on the couch. Tim is bemoaning how much pasta he ate while nursing his third glass of wine. Buster reminds him that he didn't have to eat three plates and oofs when he gets punched in the ribs. Huffing, he stretches an arm around Tim's shoulders and steals the wine glass, taking a drink. He's not a wine person but this isn't bad.

“Well, at least you didn't do the yawn and stretch.” Tim murmurs, sounding pleased. He takes the remote from Buster and channel surfs until he lands on an NCIS rerun. He makes an approving noise and drops the remote.

“You've got a man crush on DiNozzo, don't you?” Buster asks, frowning.

“Fuck no. Gibbs. Gibbs is sexy.” Tim answers, dead serious.

Buster doesn't have an answer for that. He settles back and watches, trying to place the episode. Kate's around so season one or season two and he really hopes it's not going to get to the episode where Kate dies because that one has a bad effect on him. Tim's body is loose and warm against his own, empty wine glass now dangling from his fingers.

It's nearing midnight when the marathon finally ends. The apartment has steadily gotten colder and Tim almost in his lap like he had been this morning, a soft fuzzy blanket pulled over the both of them. The credits roll and a commercial shows for a late night talk show. Tim blinks and glances at the clock, yawning and stretching.

“S'late.”

“Not that late. Clock is lying.” Buster says, and blushes at the look that Tim gives him.

This is a struggle. Tim said he would have to work for this. Buster's kind of pegged that as having to behave himself and in the past few days, he's kept a polite distance, taking only what Tim is comfortable allowing him. He touches but not too much, just brushes of fingers or shoulder bumps. He doesn't know how to ask for more and he's afraid that if he does, that he'll only succeed in driving Tim away.

Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Tim is on his feet, stretching and turning, saying he's tired and probably about to say that he's gonna head home. Buster stretches an arm out and grabs his wrist, looking up at Tim and smiling a little at the way he startles. His hair is falling in his face and his sleepy eyes are dark and Buster thinks that Tim is the most beautiful person he's ever met.

“Don't go.”

Tim meets Buster's eyes and he seems to be searching for something. Buster feels like he's being weighed and measured and he desperately hopes that he won't be found wanting. Very slowly, he nods.


End file.
